Weekend Reads #46: Solitude

Weekend Reads is a weekly discussion on a variety of topics. At the end of the post, I’ll include what I plan to read on the weekend.

For this weekend, I’ve decided to do a prompt from WordPress’s Daily Post. It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these; plus, I’m not in the mood to write about books and reading. I guess one could say my post is late since the prompt I’ve selected was for Thursday, April 28.

This weekend’s topic and Daily Post prompt:

Solitude

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Disruptive Thoughts

Daily Post: Sweeping Motions

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these posts so since I’m in the mood to write but am procrastinating on a review, I thought, why the hell not.

Today’s question:

What’s messier right now — your bedroom or you computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.

I don’t have organized thoughts.

On a good day my thoughts jump quickly from one thing to another but there’s a common topic to them. But days like today, my thoughts drift heedless of my attempts to control them. They are languid, lazy thoughts and all they want to do is just mill around in my mind, taking their time to float to my attention before dispersing.

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The fight over the event last night

Daily Prompt: Roy G. Biv

Write about anything you’d like, but make sure that all seven colors of the rainbow — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet — make an appearance in the post, either through word or image.

Note: I started with the first image that popped in my head and went with it until I ran out of steam. I have no idea where this came from. I’ve never been in such a situation before.

My vision was red when I woke. I was so enraged. I thought that a quick nap would shake off the anger but instead it slept along with me, patiently waiting to resurface, and now it was ready. Ready for me to take action. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my jacket, and left the house in search of him. I drove my blue buggy right up to his house and banged on the door until he opened it. He refused to meet my eyes knowing that he had done wrong, that he had pushed me too far. I shoved him into the house and entered after, intent on putting a hurting on him that he’d soon not forget. No one messes with me.

As I drew back my fist to deliver a punch, a flash of pink caught my eye and I looked around to see little Sara staring at me. The sun caught the flecks of green in her big hazel eyes as she stared up at us, opened mouthed, probably wondering what I’m doing to her daddy. But my anger refused to relent even for this little girl and I tried to sweeten my voice as I coaxed her to return to the living room and her cartoons, but she continued to stare. Dammit!

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1 Unmotivated Student, 2 Exceptional Teachers

Daily Prompt: We Can Be Taught!

What makes a teacher great?

As part of the International Women’s Day celebration, I shall highlight the two teachers who influenced me the most while in school.

The first is a high-school teacher. I shall call her Ms. P. Ms. P was an English teacher who also taught a creative writing class. Though I didn’t enjoy her English classes much, I loved her creative writing classes though I spent most of it asleep. She was a quiet lady, who barely spoke above a whisper yet could control the rowdy high-school students. Usually when we were assigned to work in groups in the English classes, our noisy collaborations would mount to a din similar to that at a concert, yet she was able to quell us by simply standing in front of the room with a mild stare as if politely waiting for us to quieten. It was a bit eerie. I always wondered why this worked more effectively than the antics of other teachers—banging the table, scraping the chalkboard, or shouting “Shut up!” She was always composed and never “lost it,” even when students were beyond rude. I admired that—the power of quiet.

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In Search of Peace and Solitude in a Noisy World

Daily Prompt: Me Time

What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not?

My ideal Saturday morning is quiet. So quiet you can hear a pin drop, the clock tick, and the water from the melting icicles on the window frames drip. I can hear the birds outside singing in the trees and hear the squirrels scampering over the snow on the porch. Every now and then the toot from someone’s car horn will waft towards me but it doesn’t disrupt the quiet.

I begin the day by lying in bed after waking, reveling in the quiet and solitude and warmth of my sheets. I’ll slowly rise as the sun climbs higher in the sky. Noon: I wash the sleep out my eyes and change into clothes suitable for the day. I make my way downstairs for breakfast and eat while admiring the handiwork of nature—the snow on the bare trees, the buds on the trees waiting for spring to bloom. After eating, I wash the dishes and pack them away then begin setting up for a day of creative work—whether writing or drawing or simply thinking. It’s a quiet day. An unhurried day. A day spent musing while writing, listening while drawing, sighing while thinking. It’s my perfect Saturday.

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